Settlement of the Blue Val¬ 
ley in the Vicinity of 
Randolph 

By Mr. C. V. Dahlberg 





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********** 

,]* SETTLEMENT OF THE * 

' '* BLUE VALLEY IN THE * 
S* VICINITY OF RANDOLPH * 
* By Mr. C. V. Dahlberg * 

PREFACE 

In January, 1913, in the 
fifty-sixth year since my 
arrival in Kansas as a boy of 
eight years of age. 

An attempt to chronicle 
some of the most important 
events which can yet be re¬ 
called to memory after so long 
a lapse of time, without the 
aid of notes, as I did not then, 
at any time, think of ever 
writing a history, will be an 
exceedingly difficult under¬ 
taking. 

As I am entirely devoid of 
particulars and dates, my jot¬ 
tings will be scattered. How¬ 
ever, in the course of my 
ramblings, I may be able to 
reproduce from memory some 
incidents that may throw some 


light upon the life of the early 
pioneers and first settlers in 
the first Swedish settlement 
in Riley and Pottawatomie 
counties, or the Big Blue Val¬ 
ley as it is called. But, as I 
have already stated, from lack 
of facts, I shall be compelled 
to make my jottings about my 
own family and its career, and 
occasionally make mention of 
the rest of the early settlers 
whenever an opportunity af¬ 
fords, and if at the end of my 
ramblings and my earthly and 
humble career, my simple ef¬ 
forts may have raised the cur¬ 
tain of time and in some mea¬ 
sure thrown seme rays of light 
upon the lives and privations 
of the early settlers of the Big 
Blue Valley, cf which the 
present generation knows 
nothing, then my humble ef¬ 
forts shall not have been in 
vain, and I shall consider my¬ 
self amply rewarded. 

Yours very truly, 


C. V. DAHLBERG, 


Lindsborg, Kansas. 
Started in the year 1913, to 
write the original, am rewrit¬ 
ing it now in the year 1921, at 
the age of 72 years.—C. V. D. 
THE HOME IN SWEDEN 
Among the first things to 
mention in this narrative is the 
introduction of the principal 
subject of the sketch. 

Mr. C. J. Dahlberg was 
born on the 17th day of July, 
1823, in Christdala, sacken 
Kalmer Lan, Sweden. His 
young life was spent on the 
farm of his widowed mother, 
his father having died when 
the son was ten years old. 
When fifteen years of age he 
assumed entire control of the 
estate together with his moth¬ 
er, whose death occurred in 
Sweden in 1874, at the ad¬ 
vanced age of 95 years. In 
Sweden, on the fourteenth day 
of October, 1845, occurred the 
marriage of our subject to 
Johanna Gustava Gustafson, 
of Vederhult Hvena socken 
Kalmer Lan, an adjoining 


socken to Christdala and near 
neighbors. He at once brought 
his young wife to his mother’s 
home, called “Fagerback,” 
where they at once went to 
housekeeping, and where he 
farmed until in the spring of 
1854, when, struck by America 
fever, he disposed of all his 
property, personal °^fl re°L 
and with his family consisting 
of wife and three children, one 
son, the writer, and two 
daughters, emigrated to Amer¬ 
ica, where it was said that the 
hogs wandered about already 
fried and with knife and fork 
sticking in their back ready 
for the passerby to cut and 
eat. But we must have land¬ 
ed on the wrong shore for we 
never found them. 

The route chosen for the 
trip was from Oscar Hamm 
steamer on the Kalmer sound 
to Kalmer, then by steamer on 
the Baltic to Lubeck, Ger¬ 
many, thence by rail across 
Schleswig Holstein to Ham¬ 
burg, Germany, then by tew 







boat through the river Elbe to 
the North Sea and across it to 
Hull, England. Thence across 
England to Liverpool, where, 
after a week’s waiting a sail¬ 
ing vessel was boarded on the 
Atlantic ocean with New York, 
United States of North Amer¬ 
ica, as its aim. The trip 
across the Atlantic was ex¬ 
ceedingly difficult and slow, 
as most of the time the wind 
was against us, which left the 
ship drifting, thus losing in 
the night time whatwasgained 
in the day. The little craft 
pitched and tossed among the 
waves and it often seemed as 
though it would go under, and 
the passengers, numbering 
about 450, were always in a 
panic, but, due to the heroic 
efforts of its splendid crew and 
its manly captain, after a per¬ 
ilous voyage of nine weeks on 
the stormy Atlantic, we land¬ 
ed safely in the New York har¬ 
bor, about the last days of 
August, 1854. 


To describe the feelings of 
the poor passengers when they 
could set foot on dry land is an 
utter impossibility and can be 
more easily imagined than 
told. After a few days stop 
in Castle Garden, New York, 
the journey was continued by 
rail and canal boat as far west 
as they extended, that is, as 
far west as any railroad was 
built at that time, and on the 
night of the fifth of Septem¬ 
ber we reached the end of the 
track in the little town of Cam¬ 
den, now Midland, on the Rock 
river, in Rock Island county, 
Illinois. Here the entire com¬ 
pany and their luggage were 
dumped off on some piles of 
bridge timbers on the banks of 
the river where the track end¬ 
ed and where a bridge was be¬ 
ing built. The remainder of 
the night was spent the best 
way possible and on the fol¬ 
lowing; morning the families 
scattered out in the little city 
to see about location. A two- 
room cottage was rented and 





that had to suffice for two 
families of^ five persons each. 
Not long afterward, on ac¬ 
count of the exposure and 
change of climate, two mem¬ 
bers of each family were taken 
sick and the two daughters in 
our family, aged seven and 
three years, and the husband 
and daughter in the other fam¬ 
ily, died, and all three girls 
were buried at the same time, 
side by side in a little grave¬ 
yard on the island. Such 
were the initial steps of the 
early immigrants. Some over 
a year was spent at this place, 
during which time our father 
was sick all the time with 
fever and ague, and could do 
little or no work. In the 
spring of 1856, he, with his 
family, moved out closer to 
Andover, in Henry county, 
Illinois, on a little farm of 80 
acres which he farmed that 
summer, but on account of his 
poor health, and being per¬ 
suaded by a friend to accom¬ 
pany him to Kansas, he traded 


his farm for a yoke of oxen 
and an old wooden axle 
wagon, and in the spring of 
1857, about the second week 
in June, started overland for 
Kansas, the promised land of 
the west, with his ox team and 
all his belongings and his fam¬ 
ily, which was then only wife 
and son, on the wagon and 
leading a pony and two year¬ 
ling colts. 

THE TRIP TO KANSAS 

The route led west from 
Swedona to the Mississippi 
river, thence through southern 
Iowa through the cities of 
Mount Pleasant, Fairfield, 
Bloomfield and others on into 
Missouri, over to St. Joseph, on 
to the western border where 
the Missouri river was crossed, 
this time on another rickety 
steam ferry. How it could be 
possible to manage an ox team 
on ferries and such dangerous 
places is hard to understand 
by anyone who has not tried 
it, but it went and we got 
through alright. From St. 


Joseph we angled across the 
country, which was then said 
to be Kansas, in a southwester¬ 
ly direction and struck theKaw 
river at a little place called 
Indianola, now extinct, but 
then somewhere in the vicin¬ 
ity of where Topeka is now 
From there we journeyed on 
up the Kaw valley to Man¬ 
hattan at the mouth of the 
Blue river which we crossed 
on a pontoon bridge on the 
evening of the 12th day of 
July, 1857, and camped at 
night on the townsite by the 
side of the beautiful Big Blue 
river. This, however, was not 
the end of our journey, as our 
address tag read “Randolph, 
Riley county, Kansas.” We 
were then in Riley county but 
not at Randolph, as we were 
told that Randolph was about 
twenty-one miles up the Blue 
river, so after making some 
few purchases we started on 
toward our journey’s end. We 
recrossed the river again at 
Juniata, six miles up the river, 


on a pontoon bridge, as there 
was no road up the river on 
the west side. There was not 
much of a road on either side, 
for that matter, as there was 
nothing but a horseback trail 
where old Mr. Gardner Ran¬ 
dolph carried the mail on 
horseback between Manhattan 
and Randolph twice a week. 

I do not know but what we 
were the first to drive a team 
all the way between Manhat¬ 
tan and Randolph, as we had 
to cut our way across the 
creeks and through the tim¬ 
ber, as the road was too nar¬ 
row for the wagon to go 
through between the trees. 

The first night out from 
Manhattan we camped just 
after crossing the river at 
Juniata, and on the day fol¬ 
lowing as we were toiling on in 
the hot July sun about 11:00 
a. m., we met a man on horse¬ 
back. We stormed him and 
asked him how far it was to 
Randolph. He laughed and 
pointed to himself and said, 



“It is here, that’s me.” That 
was old Mr. Randolph, on his 
way to Manhattan with the 
mail. We told him we were 
on our way there to settle. He 
became very much interested 
in us and talked a long time 
before he proceeded. This 
was somewhere close to the 
old Tom Pierce place below 
Garrison. Another night on 
the way and in the evening of 
the 15th day of July, we ar¬ 
rived safely at the house of 
the first Swedish settler, John 
A. Johnson, a single man who 
had come with a Mr. Shannon 
from Galesburg, Illinois, in 

1855, and settled where Vk 
then lived. His brother, N.P. 
Johnson, who had come in 

1856, lived at his house thc,y» 
while he got a cabin built on 
his own place. 

We stayed there over night 
and felt very much relieved, 
having reached our very peril¬ 
ous journey’s end. The next 
day father and the Johnson 
brothers started out afoot up 


the river to look at land with 
a view of getting a location. 
The land was then all open for 
settlement under die pre¬ 
emption law at $1.25 an acre, 
but was not surveyed until | 
that same fall when the gov- i 
eminent surveyors went 
through. They proceeded as 
far as to what was known to 
the early settlers as Timber 
City, which was noted for its 
big spring, which was indeed 
a marvel of its kind. It 
emptied out a foaming stream 
of ice cold crystal water, 
through a round opening in 
the clay bank under the hill 
and was about eight inches in 
diameter and came with such 
a force that it made a roar 
that could be heard a long way 
and made a creek from the 
spring to the river large 
enough to row a common boat 
in., To this remarkable place 
we moved on the seventeenth 
day of July and on father’s 
birthday when he was thirty- 
four years old. We camped 








'i there a few days with a view 
). of taking it for a claim, but 
t on further investigation found 
• that it was claimed by the 
!, Randolphs, as they had made 
il the first improvements on it by 
■ laying a foundation of four 
i logs on the same and thus held 
s it as their property. 

) In the meantime father kept 
r looking around and one day 
wandered across the river and 
I got up ori a large smooth bot- 
; tom where the blue stem stood 
higher than his head so he 
could not see the end of the 
land before him, but by break¬ 
ing through this thick mass 
westward for about 100 rods 
he came to a creek with lots 
of fine, clear, running water in 
it and an abundance of tim¬ 
ber on its banks. This creek 
he followed upward for some 
distance until he came to a 
gentle bend where he halted, 
and then and there decided to 
locate and marked the spot by 
blazing some of the trees on 
the bank of the creek, after 


which he wended his way 
back to the river and came 
back over into camp. The 
next day he hooked up and 
pulled down to the river to the 
place where he had crossed 
the day before. He had to 
cut his w*ay through the tim¬ 
ber to the river and drove in, 
but came near being stuck in 
quick sand, but finally got out 
on the other side on a fine, 
smooth sandbar, out his way 
to the level bottom land, broke 
through the tall grass to the 
bend where he stopped and 
unloaded and said, “This is 
our home.” 

He at once set to work cut¬ 
ting trees for house logs and 
dragging them together with 
the oxen, to the spot where the 
cabin was to be built, hewed 
them on two sides into nice 
straight logs eight inches thick 
and 16 to 22 feet long, build¬ 
ing a house therewith 16 x22 
feet outside, one and one-half 
stories high, covering it with 
.clapboards which he made 






from large oak cut in blocks 
two feet long and split out 
with a flow. The floor was 
made by s p 1 i 11 i ng nice, 
straight hickory logs into quar¬ 
ters or halves and hewing 
them smooth on one side and 
the ends sized to about two 
inches to lay smooth on logs 
to serve as joists. Material 
was plentiful, but was on the 
stump and had to be used 
green and worked out by 
hand, a slow process for one 
man, but he was strong and 
eager and by the 10th of 
November the same year the 
house was ready for oc¬ 
cupancy, and it proved to be 
a remarkable day in the his¬ 
tory of the pioneer family, as 
an incident occurred which 
was of unusual nature. 

The writer, then only a little 
over eight years old, was sent 
afoot in the middle of the 
night, three miles to a neigh¬ 
bor, the Randolph family, to 
call the good old lady to the 
Dahlberg home. The night 


was starlit and bright and 
still, but frosty and cold, and 
the young messenger did not 
tarry long on each foot on that 
Indian trail which wound 
aroung along the hillside and 
over deep and gloomy gullies, 
but ran all the way, got there 
all right and succeeded in 
arousing the kind lady from 
her midnight slumber. With¬ 
out any further deliberation 
she got up and dressed, went 
out somewhere and got a 
horse saddled and mounted it, 
after which she caught one 
hand of the messenger, swung 
him up on the horse behind 
herself and started off. The 
object of that early morning 
horseback ride, in that crisp 
and frosty November day was 
not for mere pleasure, nor was 
it revealed to the messenger. 
We arrived somewhat over¬ 
due and were informed that a 
fine baby girl had come to stav 
at the settler's cabin, a while 
ahead of our arrival. Thus 
was born the first white girl on 


the frontier, or west of the 
Big Blue river. A robust and 
healthy child she whs and 
grew up in spite of the many 
privations of the early 
pioneers, and at the age of 19 
became the wife of A. G. 
Axelton, the only son of Mr. 
and Mrs. N. P. Axelson, also 
early settlers who came by 
horse team, from Galesburg, 
Ill, in 1858, and settled in 
Pottawatomie county, just 
across the river from our 
place. Their only daughter, 
Miss Sophia Axelson, became 
the wife of Edward Secrest, 
then a soldier of the Civil War 
and a pioneer of Fancy Creek 
in Riley county, a prosperous 
farmer and stock raiser, hav¬ 
ing settled there in 1856. A 
family of seven children were 
born to them, three sons and 
four daughters. One son died 
in infancy and two daughters 
at maturity, the rest grew up 
and were well educated. Mr. 
and Mrs. Axelton have been 
very fortunate in all their 


undertakings and acquired a 
lot of wealth, have raised a 
family of eleven children, 
eight sons and three daugh¬ 
ters, who have all grown up to 
become useful and respected 
men and Women. 

John Sanderson, also of 
Galesburg, Ill., Came here at 
the same time the Axeltons 
did and settled with his family 
consisting of wife and one 
daughter on Swede Creek, in 
Riley county, where he lived 
and farmed for a good many 
years and has long since pass¬ 
ed beyond. F^ve more chil- 
drpn were born to them, who 
are all living, but one daugh¬ 
ter who died after maturity. 

Peter Carlson and family 
who came from Illinois the 
same year that we did, and 
settled on Swede Creek, con¬ 
sisted of a family of seven 
children, five sons and two 
daughters, also deserve men¬ 
tion. They had many hard¬ 
ships and privations in the be¬ 
ginning of their settlement. 





The wife and mother died the 
second year, or in 1858, and 
was the first Swede woman to 
be buried on Kansas soil, on a 
little plateau close to the 
south bank of the beautiful 
Swede Creek, which name it 
got from the fact that Mr. 
Carlson, a Swede, was the first 
to explore its fertile valley and 
settle at its mouth. It was 
later settled clear to its head 
by Germans, namely, Adolph, 
Fred and Herman Toburen, 
Meismeyer, Klocke, Wohler, 
Sondker, Eversmeyer, Kaump, 
Richter, Oberhelman, Johns- 
meyer and others whose 
names I can not now recall. 

Nils Christensen, a single 
man from Denmark, came to 
the valley in 1858 and took a 
claim on the river two miles 
northeast of our place, where 
he lived the remainder of his 
life and acquired quite a bit of 
property. He used to freight 
across the plains between 
Leavenworth, Kansas, and 
Denver, Colorado, with ox 


team during the sixties and 
had many a tussle with the 
Indians on the plains, who 
came very near scalping him 
at times. He usually made 
two trips a year. June 2, 
1864, he was married to Chris¬ 
tine Johnson. Seven children 
were born to them, three sons 
and four daughters, who have 
all grown up and become use¬ 
ful and respected men and 
women. 

Lars Pearson and wife came 
the same year and settled on 
the same bottom and neigh¬ 
bors to Mr. Christensen. 
When the Civil War broke 
out Mr. Pearson enlisted and 
served his country to the end 
of the war and came home, 
but lost his eyesight in the 
service so was not capable of 
doing much thereafter, and 
died many years ago. They 
had two sons, Albert and Ed¬ 
win, the former a truck farm¬ 
er in California, the latter a 
merchant at Burdick, Kansas, 
for many years, now dead. 





Their mother also is dead. 

Samuel P. Rolander, a single 
man came in company with 
Peter Carlson in 1857 and set¬ 
tled in Pottawatomie county 
just south of us. When the 
Civil War broke out he enlist¬ 
ed and served in the cavalry 
to the end and came through 
without a scratch, but was 
killed in a runaway accident 
September 2, 1879. He was 
married to Lovisa Larson in 
Atchison, Kansas, while there 
on a furlough during the war. 
She at once moved with her 
parents to the farm and helped 
her father tend it until her 
husband came home from the 
war. To them were born five 
children, one son and four 
daughters. The son died m 
childhood but the girls are liv¬ 
ing, three in California and 
one in Olsburg, the wife of my 
nephew, Evert L. Axelton. 

An old couple from New 
York settled in 1858 in Potta¬ 
watomie county, east of us, by 
the name of Jacob Van Brunt. 


The lady, a former school 
teacher, taught the first school 
in the settlement. She taught 
privately at her home, had 
two pupils, Miss Emma John¬ 
son and your humble scribe. 
At recess we had to go with 
her into the corn field and pull 
weeds among the corn, carry 
them with us to the end of the 
row and throw them into the 
timber at the edge of the field. 
I attended this school only a 
few days, as it was too diffi¬ 
cult for me to get across the 
river. They only lived there 
a few years when they sold 
out to a Mr. Frost of Arkan¬ 
sas, who afterward sold the 
place to a Mr. Pete Ipsen, a 
Dane from Manhattan. 

A young Irish couple also 
settled on the same bottom in 
1857 and built a small log 
cabin close to the river across 
from where we lived. He 
made only one opening in the 
cabin, which, of course, served 
as a door. It did all right as 
long as it was warm so they 




could have the door open, but 
when winter came and it got 
cold so they had to have it 
closed, they were in total 
darkness. This distressed the 
good lady so she told her hus¬ 
band, McGane was his name, 
“Mack, you go over to Mr. 
Dahlberg and get him to come 
over and cut a hole in the wall 
for a window, so we can get 
some light in here.” So he 
did, and father went over and 
cut the hole in question. 
When it was finished Mrs. 
Mack was so elated over the 
result she said in a loud voice, 
“I wouldn’t take foive dollars 
for that hole.” And she 
would have needed it badly as 
she didn’t have five dollars to 
her name. They lived there 
only two years when they sold 
out to Casper Siebert, a Ger¬ 
man, who lived there nearly 
all his life, or until he got too 
old to work, when they sold 
out and moved to St. Marys, 
Kansas. He also was one of 
our neighbors who served in 


the Civil War. 

William and Charley Meyer 
and Fred Toburen took a 
claim on our bottom on the 
west side of the creek in 1857. 
Fred soon parted and went up 
on Swede Creek and got a 
claim of his own, and lived 
there until he died of old age. 
Charley was drowned in 
Fancy Creek in August, 1863. 
William lived on a few years 
but finally sold out to his 
brother-in-law, Mr. Siebert 
and moved up toward May 
Day and at last to Leonard- 
ville. 

Our settlement grew a little 
slowly, one after another 
came and took up the land on 
the river, the bluffs and high 
prairie no one would look at or 
have for nothing in those days, 
and it was pot until 1866-70 
that anyone began to settle 
the prairies, as they thought 
they were no good to grow any 
crops on, but they at last 
found out that the bluffs were 
valuable, if not indispensable 







for pasture and grazing as we 
could not let the cattle and 
horses run at large as hereto¬ 
fore, after all the good land 
had been taken for farming. 
Lucky then was he who had 
secured a “bluff” close to his 
home or he would go without 
or buy some at a distance. 
These lands are now worth 
hundreds of dollars an acre 
whereas they could be bought 
then for $3.50 and up. 

The Johnsons, mother and 
three brothers and sisters, 
came to the valley in 1859, 
and settled. The mother, a 
quite old lady, not accustomed 
to our climate, coming direct 
from Sweden as they did, was 
taken sick and died in the fall 
of 1860, and was buried in 
Peter Johnson's meadow. 
Thus a thought of a burying 
place was started and in the 
next spring a tract of 40 acres 
was bought and chartered as 
church property. In 1863, 
John Johnson, a Swedish min¬ 
ister, came to the valley, stop¬ 


ping about two weeks preach¬ 
ing the Gospel and confirming 
a class, also organized the 
congregation which was call¬ 
ed “Mariedahl” in memory of 
the Johnson mother as her 
name was Marie. 

In the fall of 1864, N. A. 
Peterson, a single man, came 
from Sweden and took a home¬ 
stead up the creek adjoining 
our farm on the north. He 
was married the next fall to 
Miss Caroline Salberg, a young 
lady who came in his company 
from Sweden. They were 
very successful and acquired a 
good deal of property. To 
them were born twelve chil¬ 
dren, seven sons and five 
daughters, one son died in in¬ 
fancy, the rest all grew up and 
are respected men and women. 
The old people are long since 
dead. 

John Ekblad and John A. 
Swenson, single also, came in 
Peterson’s company and set¬ 
tled around here. Swenson is 
dead, but Ekblad is still living 


in his old home at Mariadahl, 
and he and his wife are both 
fairly spry for their age. He 
was married to Charlotta 
Johnson in the spring of 1866. 
To them were born eight chil¬ 
dren, five sons and three 
daughters, two daughters 
have since died. The sons 
are all living, one is a minister 
two are medical doctors and 
two are farming. Ekblad was 
a stone mason from Sweden 
and in the spring of 1866 he 
got the contract to build the 
church at Mariadahl, which 
was built out of stone. He 
also built several other houses 
the next few years for the set¬ 
tlers who came to make their 
homes in the valley. That 
spring his two brothers, Frank 
and August Ekblad, came 
from Sweden. They were 
also stone masons and also 
worked on the church. 

Miss Sophia Axelton was 
the first regular teacher, 
teaching a school in 1862, first 
in J. A. Johnson’s house and 


later in a little log school 
house by the roadside between 
Axelton’s and J. A. Johnson’s 
in Pottawatomie county. I 
attended this school a few 
months. That was principal¬ 
ly all the schooling I had ex¬ 
cept two months in Manhattan 
in 1869-70. School was not 
considered so important then 
as it is now. The main thing 
then was work, so I had to quit 
and go home and help as we 
were building a new house that 
year up by the hills along the 
main road. It was built of 
stone 25x36 feet, two stories 
and basement, and was quite 
a big job, and we did most of 
the work ourselves, father and 
I, except the masonry. It was 
finished by the 5th of October, 
1870, and we moved into it 
that day, on my baby sister’s 
birthday, when she w r as five 
years old. 

My only brother, John 
Luther, born May 13, 1860, 

and a sister, Emily Susela, 
born October 11, 1862, died 







the same fall, the former 
November 15, and the latter 
November 12, from an epi¬ 
demic of typhoid fever. They 
were aged 25 and 23 years 
respectively. These grown 
children, taken from the 
home within a month was too 
much of a blow to my mother, 
so she broke down and was 
never well from then on. Her 
ailment finally developed into 
dropsy and she died after 
years of much suffering, De¬ 
cember 7, 1893. She was a 
little over 65 years old. Thus 
ended the earthly career of a 
true and noble mother who 
would always sacrifice for the 
sake of making others happy. 

Father then lived on alone 
in the old home which was 
rented to different parties 
until 1895, when his son-in- 
law, A. G. Axelton, bought the 
farm and moved over after 
which he lived with them until 
his death which occurred on 
October 22, 1914, at the ad¬ 
vanced age of 91 years. He 


sleeps in the Mariadahl ceme¬ 
tery beside his wife and three 
children, who had gone before. 

Our settlement grew little 
by little as some came every 
year. S. P. Johnson and fam¬ 
ily, and Samuel Anderson and 
family came in 1865 and set¬ 
tled close to Randolph. They 
are dead years ago, but some 
of their children are still living 
around there. The Flobergs, 
Melgren brothers, Anders 
Quist and the Velens came in 
1867. 

The year 1857 was a very 
rainy one and before we had 
the house built we had a hard 
time to keep dry. One night 
it just poured down and we 
all sought shelter under the 
table, but it did not help as 
the water stood on the ground 
several inches deep. Samuel 
Rolander was along; he was, 
however, happy and sat there 
and sang. Kansas was in its 
primitive stage then and it was 
hard for the early settlers to 
get along. Not much work to 


be done by which one could 
make any money, as money 
was scarce and no one could 
afford to hire. The settler 
could hardly work away 
either, as he needed to work 
at home to get his own things 
in shape as everything had to 
be done by hand and it went 
slowly. Rails had to be slit 
or cut from the growing trees 
in the timber, to fence the little 
patch that had been broken 
and planted to corn. How¬ 
ever, father worked at picking 
corn for a neighbor three miles 
from home, in the winter, get¬ 
ting a bushel of corn for a 
day’s work, and carried it 
home in the evening on his 
back, parching some of it the 
same evening in the oven and 
grinding it in the coffee mill 
for the next morning’s meal. 
Meat was plentiful as there 
was lots of game, such as wild 
turkey, prairie chicken and 
water fowls which we could 
shoot from the door or trap 
in the front yard. That made 


living possible. 

I learned to swim in the 
river at an early age and often 
swam across the big stream 
when it was too high to cross 
any other way, carrying my 
clothes on my head. I skated 
on the ice in the winter and 
trapped and fished. Fish 
were plentiful then and of 
enormous size. I saw a cat 
fish at Manhattan that had 
been caught in the Big Blue 
river there, that weighed 80 
pounds and was over five feet 
long. We had a seine then 
and could catch them any time 
we wanted, or could fish any 
way we wanted, for that mat¬ 
ter, not being restricted by any 
fish or game laws, but could 
fish and hunt to our heart’s 
content. We did not, how¬ 
ever, exhaust the supply as we 
did not institute any great on¬ 
slaught but only got what we 
needed for a living. How¬ 
ever game became exhausted 
after a few years as it fled 
from civilization. The Indians 


were a great menace to fish 
and game as they would come 
to the valley and pitch their 
camp and hunt and fish and 
trap all winter on a large scale. 
The prairie fires also were a 
fearful destruction as the In¬ 
dians would set the grass on 
fire in the fall and it would 
burn for days and weeks, 
sweeping over the whole 
country, consuming everything 
in its wake. The white set¬ 
tlers had a hard time to save 
themselves and their homes 
from being destroyed by the 
raging elements. The only 
thing to be done was to break 
a fireward around your home 
and burn out between it. 
Those neglecting so doing 
often lost all they had and 
possibly their lives as it often 
came at night, having traveled 
ten or fifteen miles since dark, 
when no fire was visible at the 
time of retiring. I know many 
times father had to get up 
several times at night and go 
out and look around to see if 


any fire was in sight. This, 
however, was overcome as the 
years went by and got the 
land broke up and cultivated. 

In 1860 we were doomed 
with a very severe drought, 
when no corn was raised in 
Kansas. So we came near 
starving, we and our animals, 
and many a frontier settler 
had to pull out and leave their 
homes and pull ‘‘back east” to 
Daddy or “wife's folks,” to 
avoid starvation. The fron¬ 
tier had been extended as far 
west as the Republican and 
Solomon rivers. Thus you see 
the pioneer life was not 
wholly play, nor the pioneers 
path a bed of roses, but was 
sometimes quite bitter and re¬ 
quired quite a bit of endur¬ 
ance and self denial on the 
part of its members, but those 
who were able to pull through 
the hardships were amply re¬ 
warded. 

Another thing to mar the 
comfort of the settlers occur¬ 
red in 1864 when the country 


was visited by a far more de¬ 
structive calamity than the 
drought of 1860, and one that 
cast more gloom over the 
country at large than any pre¬ 
vious one. It was the grass¬ 
hoppers. To describe their 
coming properly would be an¬ 
other impossibility, unless it 
could be to some extent com¬ 
pared with a good sized snow 
storm, or a regular Kansas 
blizzard. We were on our 
way to Ft. Riley, each with a 
load of corn, father and I, and 
toward 10 a. m. it began to 
get quite dark, although it was 
clear and warm. We began 
to look around and happened 
to turn our faces skyward to 
study the upper air, and lo, 
and behold, the sun was com¬ 
pletely obscured by a rapidly 
moving mass not unlike snov'. 
indeed, was being driven 
straight toward the south. 
Whatever it was it was driving 
fiercely ahead as if impelled 
by a strong wind, though there 
was not a breath of air stir¬ 


ring below. Soon small ob¬ 
jects began to detach them¬ 
selves from, the mass so thal 
the eye could distinguish sepa¬ 
rate particles which looked 
not unlike scraps of silvei 
driven with the terrific force 
from the tail end of some gi¬ 
gantic machine. Drawing 
our hats down tight over oui 
faces for protection, we again 
looked up. The whole mov¬ 
ing cloud had lowered to a dis¬ 
tinguishable distance. “Why, 
they are grasshoppers,” we 
exclaimed almost at the same 
time, and indeed, so true was 
our observation and so rapid¬ 
ly were the grasshoppers set¬ 
tling that we did not knew 
which way to turn to shield 
our faces from the storm, 
Our horses also annoyed by 
the myriads of insects settling 
upon them began to move rest¬ 
lessly, swinging their head? 
from side to side, while they 
whipped their flanks with 
their tails and were almost un¬ 
governable and had it not beer 


:or the heavy loads they were 
pulling they would have got- 
;en away. The ground and 
x>ad and everything was soon 
covered several inches deep 
oy the hoppers and on inclines 
where we would go a little 
faster they could not get away 
luick enough and were crush- 
ad by the wheels to such an 
extent that it made it muddy 
so the wheels slid sideways if 
it leaned ever so little. Ter¬ 
ror stricken as we were we 
drove on to the Fort and un¬ 
loaded and camped for the 
night. We started back some 
time the, next day and found 
that every green thing along 
the road had been devoured 
by the pests. Numberl^r? 
scissorlike mouths were gnaw¬ 
ing on stubs of corn stalks near 
the roadside, the tassel was 
gone, the edges of the leaver 
were eaten away, and lines of 
hungry insects could be seen 
clinging to the center rib of 
the blades gnawing and cut¬ 
ting at every remaining inch 


of the stem. It was a deso¬ 
late world to behold in mid- 
,cummer. Tim trees, no m 0 ^ 
ter how large, were stripped 
of their leaves, and every vest- 
age of green was eaten to the 
ground, which in turn was 
covered with a mass ^ 
sive smelling substances al¬ 
most unendurable. 

On reaching our home about 
4 p. m., we would not have 
known our own place had it 
not been for mother coming to 
meet us, pale as a ghost and 
almost scared to death by that 
terrible pest that had invaded 
the place. By night they be¬ 
gan to crawl up and so pro¬ 
fusely did they cover every¬ 
thing, trees, fences, houses, 
etc., no one could tell what it 
was but a brown mass of mov¬ 
ing things. After they had 
eaten everything there was to 
eat, they began to mate, after 
which the female burrowed 
her rear end into the ground 
and deposited her eggs and 
died, in most cases remaining 


in the hole dead. Thus the 
ground was one large honey¬ 
comb of holes so close together 
you could not put down the 
end of a finger between them. 
These eggs, of course, hatched 
in the spring, and the young 
ones ate all they could find 
until they got wings, then they 
would rise and go somewhere 
else as soon as they got a 
favorable wind, which had to 
be from the north as they in¬ 
variably go south. They stay¬ 
ed with us three years in suc¬ 
cession, destroying everything 
we tried to raise, and the 
grasshopper years in Kansas 
will always be remembered by 
the old settlers as long as they 
live. The years during! and 
after the grasshopper raid 
were hard ones for the settlers 
being, as it was, during and 
after the Civil War, when 
everything went high in prices 
and were scare what we had to 
buy. Not much transporta¬ 
tion facilities as the country 
was new and we had to go to 


the “river” for what we had to 
buy and with what we had to 
sell. The only thing there 
was to sell at that time was 
corn, what little there was 
raised of that, as the grasshop¬ 
pers did not altogether de¬ 
stroy that every year. So, in 
order to put it into a more con¬ 
densed form we got started 
raising hogs and fed the corn 
to them, butchered them and 
sold them in the form of bacon 
and lard, hauling it to the 
“river” points, such as Leaven¬ 
worth or Atchison, Kansas, 
and traded it for goods or 
clothing or shoes. Each fam¬ 
ily usually went to Leaven¬ 
worth once a year to buy up 
some stuff for the year, and 
that trip was usually made in 
the fall or early winter, and it 
took a week to make the trip. 
We then had to rig up a cover¬ 
ed wagon and camping outfit 
and camp by the roadside 
when night came on. The 
distance to Leavenworth is 112 
miles, the way the crow flies, 


but the country over which we 
had to travel was unsettled so 
the road was bad and wound 
around on the divides and to 
where the creeks could be 
most conveniently crossed. 
We needed airplanes more 
then than now when the road~ 
are graded and the creeks and 
rivers bridged. 

As the years rolled on the 
country improved;, highways 
were established, railroads 
built and little towns sprang 
up along the lines, so it' be¬ 
came a little more convenient 
to do business. The Kansas 
division of the U. P. railway 
was built to Manhattan in 
August, 1866, and after that 
it became a little more conven¬ 
ient. A mill was built there 
about the same time, so we 
could get our grist ground a 
little closer to home. Before 
that we had no mills close to 
home, but had to go to Marys¬ 
ville, Grasshopper Falls or 
Milford. Sometimes we had 
to lie there and wait our turn 


one or two days and nights. 
These mills were of the old 
type water mills where the 
grain was crushed between 
two burrs or millstones, the 
lower lying flat with the face 
up was stationary; the upper 
one going around with a ter¬ 
rific speed, crushing the grain 
that ran in between them 
through an opening in the cen¬ 
ter. We usually took 15 or 20 
bushels of grain at a time to 
have made into breadstuff's so 
it would last a while ana we 
would not have to go to mill 
so often. We would often take 
grist along for our neighbors 
also, and they would do the 
same in return. 

Another marked co-opera¬ 
tion was when the hogs were 
fat and ready to be butchered, 
which was generally in the 
fall when cold weather had 
set in. Then it was a com¬ 
mon thing to invite two or 
three neighbors and their 
wives for a day when there 
was a regular wholesale 


slaughter. When trading work 
this way with each other, each 
one had a certain job assigned 
him. Some did the killing, 
that was usually the job of the 
writer, the “Pioneer Boy” with 
his rifle or six shooter, anoth¬ 
er had a horse to snag them to 
the scalding barrel, then some 
to scald and some to scrape 
clean, then hang them up, 
and someone to cut them open 
and take out the insides. Thus 
fifteen or twenty hogs were 
often killed in one day. 

Coming to Kansas as I did 
at the age of eight, my first 
years were spent in helping 
father with what I could; in 
the winter usually in the tim¬ 
ber making rails for fence 
around the place, and in the 
summer driving a breaking 
team which consisted of two 
or three yoke of oxen which 
had to be driven along by 
walking by their side in the 
grass with a big whip lashing 
and cracking' at first one yoke 
then the other to make 


them go on and pull the big 
plow which cut the heavy 
prairie sod often eighteen and 
up to twenty inches wide. It 
was a wearying task, as one 
had to walk back and forth 
from the wheelers to the lead¬ 
ers then back and halloo and 
hit with all your might to 
make them go, and it is sure a 
go^ thing) that it did not last 
forever, as it was indeed 
cruelty to animals to work 
the cattle that way, but we 
had no other power then and 
it had to be done. 

To tell all the different do¬ 
ings of the early settlers would 
be an endless task and would 
take too much writing, so I 
must hurry and tell the most 
important that I can now re¬ 
call to memory as the time is 
short and the old ones are 
passing one by one and I 
know not when I may be call¬ 
ed to my reward, maybe be¬ 
fore I have been able to finish 
this narrative, if it will be any 
benefit to do so. When I look 


back on the past I can see it 
all as though it were a moving 
picture passing before my vi¬ 
sion. I can see how the neigh¬ 
bors used to visit each other, 
using the oxen and wagons as 
conveyance. How at Christmas 
time they used to gather at 
our house or some neighbor’s, 
old and young, to have serv¬ 
ice, “Julotta” in the early 
morning. At one occasion, 
the Christmas of 1863, the 
neighbors across the river all 
came over to our house in the 
early morning, afoot, and, car¬ 
ried an organ—they called it 
a “melodieon”—to play the 
sacred old Christmas hymns, 
crossing the river on the ice 
and two men, Sumner Rolan- 
der and Peter Johnson, car¬ 
ried it between them suspend¬ 
ed on a pole, the distance of a 
mile and a half. Nothing was 
too hard then. How we used 
to have skating parties on the 
ice up and down the river. We 
would build a fire on the ce 
and have a flying Dutchman 


to take the boys and girls rid¬ 
ing on. That consisted of a 
stout post set in a hole 
through the ice to the bot¬ 
tom, and a pole about twenty 
feet long with a hole through 
it about four feet from the 
big end and an iron pin 
through it into the post which 
projected four feet above the 
ice. Then tie a small sled to 
the long end and two or three 
boys would walk around at the 
short end and push it around 
and send the sled flying 
around the circle with its pre¬ 
cious load. 

How we would go turkey 
hunting in the evenings after 
they had gone to roost, or in 
the early morning before they 
had flown down. How we 
would shoot them down from 
the tops of the big cotton¬ 
woods by the river so they 
would come down with a thud 
at our feet. Everything had a 
thrill then. How we would 
go deer hunting and follow 
their tracks for miles and 


crawl in the deep snow to 
some crest to try to get a view 
of the game. How we would 
trap beaver in the river and 
coons by the shore and hunt 
wildcats by following their 
tracks in the new fallen snow 
until we treed them, then 
shoot them down. All this 
was great sport in those days, 
something we cannot indulge 
in now. 

The Indians were plentiful 
in those days and were our 
daily neighbors. We often 
visited their camps, went into 
their tents and saw them cook 
their food and sat with them 
around the camp fire. Some 
of them would sometimes come 
to our house and mother 
would bake Johnny Cake for 
them as long as they could eat 
and they surely could eat a 
lot. They were not hostile at 
that time; that was before the 
Civil war. After that they 
got stirred up and gave the 
settlers quite a bit of trouble, 
especially out west and on the 


plains, much augmentd by 
bushwhackers, half-breeds and 
Mexican cowboys. We would 
often see great bands of In¬ 
dians go through, dressed in 
war regalia and painted with 
war paint, to fight some other 
tribe. They did not molest any 
of the settlers, though they 
would halt a while and sit on 
their ponies and look at us 
and sign to each other as 
though they thought we were 
funny objects in their sight. 
We were in no way protected, 
so they could easily have tak¬ 
en our scalps, every one of us, 
but they did not, and went 
their way peaceably. This was 
in the latter fifties. After that 
the government took charge of 
them, the Indians, by estab¬ 
lishing agencies at their reser¬ 
vations and in some cases buy¬ 
ing them out and moving them 
to the Indian territory, thus 
opening their reservations for 
settlement by the whites. 

In 1873 we saw a tribe, the 
Pawnees moved from the res- 


ervation in Nebraska to the 
territory. It consisted of 
about 800 Indians. They pass¬ 
ed by our place and it was a 
constant stream that lasted a 
whole day from early morn¬ 
ing until 10 o'clock at night. 
A government escort that had 
charge of the moving accom¬ 
panied the caravan. About 
forty wagons carried the bag¬ 
gage and household effects 
and a bunch of fat cattle was 
driven along and a beef was 
killed in camp every day. 
Squaws and papooses rode 
their ponies and dragged their 
tent poles behind them. Occa¬ 
sionally a bed was made on 
the poles where one or more 
tiny youngsters would be rid¬ 
ing. The bucks and braves did 
not travel on the road, but 
would stay along the river 
and across the farms aTong the 
line to hunt and shoot what 
game they could find on the 
way, joining the camp at 
night. It was indeed a great 
sight to behold and we did not 


do anything that day but stay 
by the house and watch them 
pass. 

The period we happen to 
live, that is, the years from 
1860 up to the present time, 
1922, or especially the last 
twenty years, has been the 
most forward in advancement 
and improvements that the 
world has ever seen. When 
we first came to Kansas and 
began to raise corn we planted 
it with an axe by cutting a slit 
in the edge of the newly brok¬ 
en sod and dropped the seed 
kernels in the same and 
tramped on it to press it to¬ 
gether. Some dropped the 
corn in the furrow when they 
were breaking, but that did 
not come up very good as it 
would come under the sod 
among the turned down grass 
where it was not able to get 
through the sod unless it was 
very thin, but the other grew 
finely and raised good corn. 
Later we dropped by hand 
and covered with a hoe, then 




came the hand planter, and 
later, in 1866, we got the first 
horse planter along the river, 
where a man or boy would 
sit and drop the corn by jerk¬ 
ing a lever back and forth ev¬ 
ery time the pointer on the 
seed box cover passed over the 
marked out row, as the field 
was first marked and we drove 
across these marks as we 
planted. Could he put it 
straight in the cross? That 
we would find out w T hen it 
came time to cultivate, as we 
would cultivate both ways. 
Then some smart head bobbed 
up and invented what they 
called a “check rower,” an at¬ 
tachment to put on the horse 
planter so that one, the driver, 
could do it all alone, as it 
would take the place of the 
dropper boy and also you 
would not have to mark out 
the fields. It consisted of a 
wire chain 80 rods long, or 
long enough to reach across 
the field, with balls on it the 
distance between the hills, or 


about three feet and eight 
inches. This chain was staked 
down tight at each end and 
passed through a slot in the 
planter that would bring the 
dropper plate around and 
drop the corn. The chain had 
to be moved and staked down 
every time you turned around 
at each end, so you see this 
was better and we thought 
we sure had it then, but we 
were in the advancement and 
improvement stage, so here 
comes the lister, first the walk¬ 
ing lister, and oh, my, the man 
killer. Then the wise heads 
put it on wheels so we could 
ride and that was better so 
we had to have that also, and 
it is still with the farmers to 
this day. 

Then we have seen the ad¬ 
vancement of the reaper from 
the scythe, the cradle, the 
hand rake reaper, the Marsh 
harvester, where two men 
stood on the machine and 
bound the grain as fast as it 
was cut and elevated to them*. 





W e did not have any of these 
for our own, but I bound on 
one of them at a neighbor’s to 
try it and you had to work fast 
if the grain was thick, and 
heavy. Their life was short, 
they did not stay in use long. 
Then came the dropper, that 
carried the grain till the 
driver, with his foot, dropped 
the amount of a bundle to be 
bound. Then the table rake, 
with an arm moved by a chain, 
swept off the grain in a pile to 
be bound. Then the self 
rake, something similar to 
the former, only improved. 
Then the self binder, and what 
a wonder! You would go al¬ 
most any distance to see it. 
The first of them that came 
out bound with wire, very line 
wire, but they were not satis¬ 
factory, so their life was 
short. Then in their place 
came the twine binder. I do 
not know but the header was 
out before that time, but I did 
not see any until later. The 
twine binder was the most suc¬ 


cessful of them all, as it has 
gone on and been improved 
and is still the leading ma¬ 
chine. They have, however, 
commenced to use the com¬ 
bined harvester and thresher 
in the wheat belt of the west 
the past few years, and thus it 
has been going on from better 
to better all the time, until it 
has reached a stage of almost 
perfection. Formerly when 
we would thresh it was neces¬ 
sary to feed by hand and some 
had to stand up by the feeder 
at the mouth of the machine, 
in the dust, and cut the bands 
with a knife and run the risk 
of cutting yourself on the feed¬ 
er unless it was an expert bard 
cutter. Then the grain had to 
be measured with half bushel 
measures and put in sacks or 
dumped into a wagon and 
keep tally with a pencil or dial 
board with hands to move for 
every half bushel and one for 
every ten, sometimes forget¬ 
ting to move or not having 
time when the grain was com- 


ing fast. Now you do not h°" 
to touch it, the machine does 
it all automatically. 

How about transportation? 
Have we not seen it all the 
way from the ox cart on up? 
How, when we would go any- 
wnere it was to start out and 
walk or those that had them 
would take a horse and go 
horseback, or in a lumber wa¬ 
gon, on a board laid across 
the wagon box to ride on. 
Then about 1870 came the 
spring seat, and, oh, my, we 
thought we had it then, and 
what a great honor it was if 
we got to ride and sit in the 
spring seat, and those that 
could afford one were looked 
upon as high-toned. And it 
was not better when later the 
spring wagon came out. The 
first ones to get one of them 
were considered rich and aris¬ 
tocratic. And the same way 
with the buggy and carriage, 
which were used everywhere 
when the automobile came 
and crowded them out and 


pushed them into the ailey or 
junk pile, where they have 
been left to rust and decay. 
Thus it has gone step by step 
forward in all branches of 
industry, just in our time, till 
we have now the most com¬ 
plete commodities of all kinds, 
almost impossible to improve 
upon. We cannot here begin 
to enumerate all the different 
things that have been brought 
about for general use and 
mostly within the last twenty 
years, and it is remarkable, 
when we stop to think of it, 
only how we can stand in our 
own home and talk to anyone, 
all over the whole world, you 
might say, and besides that 
the wireless that is just now 
getting into use, and the rapid 
moving automobile and the 
flying machine. The latter 
has not become very common 
yet as most people prefer be¬ 
ing on terra firma, but the 
auto has gone into general use 
both in the cities and in the 
country, in a very short time 


until it is now used by every¬ 
body and every class. In 1901 
while in Chicago for two 
months, I saw my first auto¬ 
mobile and was offered a ride 
in one of them, but missed it 
because of wife being too 
fidgety and would not go as 
she was afraid of the thing 
and did not dare to get into it. 
It was nothing but a buggy 
wagon owned by Montgomery 
Ward & Co., and was used to 
give their customers what 
they called a little spin over 
the city. There were only 
twenty-three machines in Chi¬ 
cago at that time and we saw 
them all at once on the thir¬ 
tieth day of April, 1901, mak¬ 
ing a run through the parks. 
They were in their primitive 
stage then, only buggy type 
with a little noisy motor, bug¬ 
gy wheels and skeleton bod¬ 
ies; one was a steadier with 
only three wheels. We hap¬ 
pened to be in Lincoln park 
when they came through and 
it was interesting to see them 


then, and we thought it won¬ 
derful, but what shall we say 
now when we think of the 
advancement in construction 
that has taken place since 
then and the number there 
are now in use, and what a 
state of perfection they have 
attained, both in the way of 
appearance, operation and en¬ 
durance, as well as conven¬ 
ience. And what shall we say 
next? I do not think we can 
say anything but shut our 
eyes and wait for further de¬ 
velopments, as we are in an 
advancing stage and do not 
know what the next twenty or 
thirty years will bring. They 
are trying hard now to travel 
in the air and it would not be 
surprising if, by twenty years 
from now, everybody would 
be driving an airplane as they 
now do the ever present auto¬ 
mobile. 

It probably is about time to 
draw these ramblings of mine 
to a close, but before so doing 
I do not know T but what it 


would be just and fair to de¬ 
vote a separate chapter to 
my own self and family as 
there has been nothing said 
on that subject. 

My name is Carl Victor 
Dahlberg. I was born in 
Christdala Socken Kalmer lan 
Sweden, July 14, 1849, in a 
little country home called 
“Fagerback,” my father’s old 
parental home. When nearly 
five years old my parents emi¬ 
grated to America and I had 
my five year birthday on the 
Atlantic ocean. We lived in 
Illinois for three years, and 
in the spring of 1857, as be¬ 
fore stated, we went to the 
then wild and woolly Kansas. 
My life was spent on my fath¬ 
er’s farm until I was about 
thirty-four years old, when, on 
the first of November, 1888, I 
was married to Hannah An¬ 
drea Peterson Deere, of Mo¬ 
line, Illinois, a young widow 
with three little girls, thirteen, 
eight and two years, respec¬ 
tively. We lived about two 


years on the old home place, 
but in 1886 we built a resi¬ 
dence on our own place ad¬ 
joining the old home. Our 
life was an eventful one. Al¬ 
though we did not suffer any 
great misfortunes, it seemed 
to be an uphill business to get 
along. The first misfortune 
that was of any consequence 
was when our first born son 
turned out to be a deaf mute. 
That gave us quite a bit of 
worry and we tried all we 
could to get him cured, but in 
vain. At ten years of age he 
was sent to the institution for 
the deaf at Olathe, Kansas, 
for. a term of eight years and 
was educated in the deaf mute 
language. He grew up to be 
a healthy, strong and intelli¬ 
gent young man and is mar¬ 
ried to a deaf lady from 
Wheaton, Kansas. 

Besides this boy, four girls 
and one boy more were born 
to us, all of whom grew up to 
become useful and respected 
men and women and are all 


married and are living around 
here, except Agnes, our oldest 
daughter, who died in 1911, 
after a married life of three 
years. My wife w r as an ideal 
woman, a true and devoted 
wife, and a kind and loving 
mother, one that would sacri¬ 
fice herself for the comfort of 
others, and we lived happily 
together. In 1909 we sold the 
farm and all our personal 
property on account of poo T 
health and other misfortunes 
and moved to Lindsborg, Kan¬ 
sas. My wife's health, how¬ 
ever, was broken and she was 


never well from that time on, 
but had always to be doctor¬ 
ing, but she steadily grew 
worse until she finally died on 
July 1, 1921, at the age of 66 
years, seven months and one 
day. Her mortal remains are 
resting in the Elmwood ceme¬ 
tery at Lindsborg, Kansas. 

And now, at the present 
time when this was written, in 
March, 1923, I am over 73 
years old and I know not the 
hour when I may be called, so, 
if I add nothing more to this 
narrative it will have to suf¬ 
fice, and I bid you all adieu. 


(The End) 




































































































































































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